


To Tame a Mercenary

by LunaMax1214, mitisvenatrix



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2010-12-27
Packaged: 2018-10-01 14:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10192376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaMax1214/pseuds/LunaMax1214, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitisvenatrix/pseuds/mitisvenatrix
Summary: Commander Shepard thinks she knows everything about Garrus Vakarian... but his deepest secret about their two years apart may destroy them, one revelation at a time. Garrus POV. A story in four parts. Non-Teandraverse. Chapter 4: *explicit*





	1. Judge

**Author's Note:**

> I have NO idea where this idea came from, but it wouldn't go away until it had been put to paper. Sorry for anyone who has their fluffies destroyed as a result of my suspicious mind.

**Chapter 1- Judge**

I watched her retreating form, trying to balance personal want and mission parameters with the concept of loyalty to a commanding officer that had been beaten into me since birth.

So far, I'd been able to avoid lying to her outright about why I was really here. She had taken my presence on the _Normandy_ at face value; had never questioned the situation she'd found me in on Omega. On some level, that in and of itself was strange, considering that no tactician was going to allow himself to be trapped in that building when he could have taken a tactical retreat to regroup. True, turian society drew a _very_ fine line between tactical withdrawal and surrender, the latter of which was punishable by death, but _something_ about that whole damn scenario should have caught her attention.

She may have been human, but she'd spent a long time learning everything she could about all the races who had joined her on the SR-1, and she wasn't stupid by a long shot. Something should have struck her as odd, and the fact that it didn't only helped enforce the rightness of my mission.

She'd put me back at her right hand without qualm, taken me on every skirmish; listened to my advice on tactics and maneuvers. The longer I spent back in her presence, the more I believed once again that it was truly the Commander Shepard responsible for Saren's destruction. As such, I'd almost felt it to be my duty to break up her argument with Sparatus when we'd gone to meet the Council. They'd been overlooking the obvious, and the terse and highly encrypted message I'd received after that meeting had been irritating, but also had been worth it. Defending her could be blamed on my cover, and therefore excuse me from the repercussions of speaking against a superior officer.

Until I realized that I was in over my head.

I had treated Shepard as a soldier, telling her stories of battle prep just like any other, never anticipating where she would take it. At her words, " _Why don't we skip right to the tiebreaker?"_ I found that a whole new group of problems had entered my life. Almost panicked, my mind had railed against blowing my cover in spite of my own lack of attraction to humans, managing to sputter out some not quite eloquent assent.

After she'd gone, though, I'd started to consider the implications of such a joining. The results couldn't be pretty.

Turians do not view sex as an emotional commitment. Sometimes you may feel something for the person you're with, but watching Shepard and Alenko on our first mission together had been more than enough exposure to assure me that the act had a completely different cultural meaning than to my people. Her blatant offer to 'blow off steam' had devil-may-care air about it, a fuck-off to the lover who scorned her on Horizon, but I also knew her well enough to know it wasn't. Commander Shepard did not invest herself in anything halfway. It was all or nothing, and it had only taken five minutes of consideration to realize that if I went down this path, there was no turning back; and if she were to discover my dual-purpose, my life would probably be ended before I could ever explain myself. That is what she had done to that man in Chora's Den when he'd threatened to expose her somewhat sordid past.

So I'd tried to reason with her, encourage her to try something closer to home, only to have her say, "I don't want something closer to home. I want _you_. I want someone I can trust."

If I didn't know better, I would think I heard an emphasis on that last word.

I'd bought myself some time, asked her to wait, convinced her I was nervous about the idea of being with her; the truth of the matter was I was nervous what my handler would think. He'd approved of the completion of my mission on Omega, and to this day I wasn't entirely convinced that Aria hadn't pulled strings to get me there in the first place. But that was speculation for another day.

Regardless, for better or worse, I was in this to the end; and I'd be lying if I didn't say there wasn't something of an exotic attraction to the woman. But the council was probably not going to approve of this new development at all.

Human Hero and Turian Tactician: two Spectres tasked with saving the galaxy. One by acting as she always had, and one by making sure the first wouldn't betray us all to Cerberus in the end. She was unaware of my own status, assigned while she was MIA for two years, and keeping my cover required that she never be made aware of that purpose.

And yet… where does the mission end and personal obligation begin? And how much loyalty did I owe to the profession I had desired since childhood when compared to everything she and I had endured in our romp across the galaxy? That was a matter for much thought, and something I better figure out before we prepared to hit the collectors where it hurt.

Returning to the Citadel had seemed an inevitable choice upon her death, and I'd found that my actions in the fight against Saren were well regarded by the Hierarchy. While most turian candidates spent _years_ trying to gain the Council's attention in order to achieve their official Spectre Candidacy, my own was streamlined, putting me on my first mission within two months. That mission had been given by Councilor Sparatus himself, thereby putting me above my father's reproach. Even forcing him to grant me a measure of grudging admiration, in spite of his absolute hatred of the Spectre Service.

" _Garrus Vakarian," the councilor holds himself regally, my own parade rest precise and crisp due to the pride I associate with the entire event, "First of all, I would like to congratulate you on your newly acquired status. Your record indicated you may be well suited to this profession, and I'm glad to see that our beliefs were well justified."_

_I continue to hold myself at parade rest, remembering to keep my military bearing in spite of my joy at his words._

" _For your first assignment, I have a mission of the utmost importance. We've received word that a man we have been hunting for two years has resurfaced, a spy for a loyalist group. He's on Omega, and may have information about their movements and current plans for sabotaging the political structure on Invictus. You will need to get close to him, earn his trust, and feed us any information you discover. Also, be prepared to make Aria aware of your presence and purpose, as you would not want to have her believe you are there to investigate her."_

" _Yes, Sir. The name of the target?"_

" _I have forwarded all the information to a private vessel we have provided for you, but after this you will need to rely on the Vakarian Clan funds, which we have persuaded your father to grant you access to once more. The target is a man named Lantar Sidonis."_

I had tracked the mark and gotten the information, all the while being able to justify my actions because they cemented my association with the rock's pirate queen. Just prior to that bastard's betrayal, however, a new set of mission specs had come in.

_Primary Mission is still priority, and the last set of intel you provided proved more valuable than we could have hoped. However, there are rumors circulating that an old associate of yours may not only still be alive, but working for a pro-human organization you've crossed paths with in the past, by the name of Cerberus. Should these rumors prove true, then be advised you are to abandon all other assignments in favor of accompanying this individual and gaining her trust by whatever means necessary. We must assure galactic stability, and make sure she is not a traitor to the Council._

Little did I know that my target had planted that last set of information. He destroyed the team we had built, set me up to die next, only to have his plans destroyed by the very woman who was to become my next assignment.

He was dead now, on order from the council, though the Commander had taken no steps to stop his demise after my story of his betrayal.

But all that had led to this, and I had to wonder if I were any better than the man I had spent two years hunting.

Shepard trusted me, albeit without good reason, and following orders was something that had never come naturally to me. It had become obvious she wasn't under the influence of the corporation that had built her; she spent too much time telling them to fuck off for that. She also, while angry with the council, was dedicated to the mission they had given her; took pride in her status as the first human Spectre. There was no reason to continue the Council's charade, other than their orders not to blow cover.

But I had an immense respect for Shepard and her 'get the job done at all costs' attitude, so to continue to observe her in the name of the Council was starting to burn. In the end, I _did_ have the executive power to take action myself and inform her, but to do so would be to risk her wrath.

And possibly her bullet. If she viewed my actions as a betrayal instead of duty, she'd shoot me on the spot. I was confident in my abilities with a weapon, but any battle between myself and the Butcher of Torfan would be more than likely to tear the hull apart.

So better to wait, and bide my time. Perhaps circumstances would present themselves to make it a more intelligent strategy to inform her.

In the meanwhile, though, what in the hell would I do about her 'offer,' if you could call her blatant advances and offer?

Well... I'd said I'd do some research. There was certainly no harm in that, was there? I could always claim cold feet in the end if I found the idea too crazy to attempt.

And watching porn would have to be one of the best mission assignments _I'd_ ever had the misfortune of receiving.


	2. Jury

**Chapter 2 – Jury (Part 2 of 4)**

Life is full of unpleasant things, at the heart of it all, isn't it?

Rapists, pedophiles, assassins, and slavers; all of which I'd destroyed in my time.

Then there were murderers, thieves, gang-bangers, and bullies; all of which I'd been _called_ in my time.

Not many of those were alive long enough to repeat their statements, I'm afraid. As much as the Alliance tried to paint me as a hero, _butcher_ probably was a much more accurate description when it came to Torfan, and I'd never denied it. Not once.

Victory in battle was reserved for the strong; that was a belief I had always held dear. Honor was something I always felt should be earned, as well, but once it had been bestowed upon someone in my eyes I always found it very hard to take back. Live by the sword, die by it, right?

Because of that belief, of all the things that existed in this universe, the thing that caused me the most frustration? Liars. Liars walked that fine line between tact and outright dishonesty, that grey area between right and wrong. Part of why everyone considered me to be such a brutal woman is because of my tendency to speak my mind no matter what the outcome, even when under the command of others. It had earned me reprimand after reprimand, but my CO's couldn't argue with my cockiness when I graduated from N7 training at the top of my class. You'd be amazed how much bullshit the military will tolerate when that bullshit is from a soldier they've spent millions of credits to train and arm, and who they one day hope to have plausible deniability of when the shit hits the fan.

That's why I told Anderson there was no damn way I was spying on Cerberus for him, any more than I was going to spy on the Alliance for Cerberus. Because, frankly, they _both_ were so damn full of themselves it was ridiculous. The galaxy, and more specifically the entire human race, were at stake, and they were all wanting to argue politics and power. Well, I sure as hell wasn't going to let the Illusive Man gain any more influence over my life than he already held, and the Council had their shot to earn my loyalty.

Let me state this: I don't hate aliens. Quite the opposite, in fact. I don't think humanity in general is a superior race, though I would admit that I considered myself to be the exception to that rule. The other races would be useful allies against the upcoming showdown with the Reapers, make no mistake, if we could come to some kind of mutual compromise. A soldier is a warrior is a fighter. All were worthy of my time and my gun.

The salarians, asari, drell, krogan, hanar, elcor, volus, hell even the vorcha (if the krogan continued to hold their leash) could all prove to be valuable allies in unseen ways, well worth expending the effort to remain on somewhat friendly terms.

And the turians? Well, if it came down to intergalactic battle, _that_ was the species I wanted at my back.

Militaristic, honorable, trained for battle from puberty, the cooperation of these modern day Spartans would be essential to humanity's survival when it came time for the gunfire to begin.

Which is the only reason Garrus Vakarian still had his life when his treachery was laid bare. His jokes and laughs and smiles were all false, all with the intent of spying on me.

That, in my book, made him a liar.

Oh yes, I was _perfectly_ aware of what was going on very shortly after his rescue. Somehow, though, the idea of eliminating another Spectre seemed…overkill, if you'll pardon the pun. His skills would be invaluable once we hit the Omega-4 relay, his battle prowess having grown to almost rival my own in the two years I was gone. With the odds we were up against, I needed every soldier willing to take that jump.

But afterwards? That was a whole different story.

It's not as if I had any qualms taking him on missions, either. His weapons skills were exemplary, his hand-to-hand combat skills just as strong as he had said they were. He was a formidable ally, and even though I knew it would result in his immediate death, it became something of a game for me to test how well into his cover he was; how far he was willing to go to keep his little secret.

Arguing in favor of letting Sidonis go? My attempt at getting him to break cover. And I would swear, if only for a moment, that it was going to work, too. In the end, though, he had remembered himself in time to give some speech about not being able to see the world in gray. Still, if nothing else, I'd drawn one little phrase away from his errand.

" _What would you do, if someone betrayed you?"_ It seemed, in that moment, that he would tell me. What would I have done then, I wonder, if he just came clean and admitted his little charade.

So I baited him.

" _I'm not sure, but I wouldn't let it change me."_

The more time I spent around that turian, the harder my decision to end his life was becoming. I didn't want to have him assassinated. He was much too valuable an asset for that anyway. But this form of treachery could not be excused without penalty, that was for sure. Walking into the batteries and putting a bullet into his brain just seemed too simple. He was a warrior, if nothing else, and one thing he hadn't done was lie to me outright.

Hedged, answered questions with questions, and deflected. But never lied.

So how to handle it so that my own personal sense of honor was satisfied by giving him a chance to fight, without dragging the rest of the crew into it?

It was quite the dilemma, to be sure, and one that remained unsolved as we traipsed about the galaxy. Then, he decided to share his little story? I had an idea.

A wonderful, awful idea, as the saying went.

So…my little offer to blow off steam was just that, if one could view a battle for survival as such. I know I sure would probably see it that way. Gunfire and explosions had always appealed to me, or I'd never have become the warrior I was. I expected he viewed things much the same way.

So we would test a little reach and flexibility, as well, and a plethora of other abilities before we were done. There was an apartment in the Argus Rho cluster I still held the deed to, and that would do as our battleground. I just hoped he had the sense to come armed, in spite of his belief that he was going to be there have sex and nothing more. Otherwise, he wasn't the warrior I believed him to be.

 _Two_ spectres would enter that apartment, but only _one_ would leave. I had enough confidence to honestly say that even I was unsure of the outcome, yet I relished the idea of the challenge, assuming both of us managed to survive the Collector base.

If nothing else, it would be a fight to remember.


	3. Executioner

**Chapter 3 - Executioner**

"So, do you want to pour the wine, or should I?" Her boots clacked against the tiles as she crossed the small floor. I never could have imagined what she'd look like out of uniform, to be honest, and even for that thief's mission she'd been in something that looked completely impractical. This outfit, however, a soft, grey material that clung in some places and flowed away in others, I had to admire. Not because of the figure it made her cut, but because in spite of the glaring lack of material I could see at least three weapons she was carrying hidden about her person. _You know, maybe I should have followed through before the relay...for the cover, of course...,_ was my errant thought as I watched her move almost predatorily across the room, walking behind the hip level counter.

Thing was, I was carrying just as many hidden weapons myself, but there was no need to tip _that_ hand just yet. The thought of trying to disarm her before attacking just felt wearying, however, and I had grown tired of the continuing charade over the last few weeks. So I got down to business.

"Do you really want to continue the game, Shepard?"

She stopped from where she was poised in the kitchen, green eyes trained on me.

"Not really, Archangel. So glad you finally chose to blow cover. Makes this _so_ much easier." She slowly put down the unopened wine bottle, setting it next to the glasses beside it.

"I was protecting the crew of the _Normandy_. Nothing more." Okay, so that wasn't completely correct, only partially. If she was so damn determined to lure me into a fight to the death, then I wasn't letting it happen where the crew would feel forced to take sides. I didn't actually approve of the whole idea, but I also had to admit the idea of a battle against someone of her skill was...appealing.

Made my regret for having a part in 'betraying' her slightly more easy to bear.

"Did you actually think I would ever put them in danger?" she asked in disbelief, moving forward to the counter that separated us. Her hands were out of sight now, however, and that made me nervous. Better make for some cover.

I moved down the small set of stairs into the open living room, hands at my back nonchalantly as I did so. "In response to something you possibly viewed as treachery: yes. The seduction techniques were a nice touch, though."

"It worked. You didn't know what I was up to until right before the collector base."

"Try the derelict reaper," I retorted, eye ridge raised.

"Hmm...I'm impressed. Not enough to spare you, though." I sensed, rather than heard, the safety being tapped on what was probably her shotgun, considering her tendencies and her mood. I silently did the same on my assault rifle, still not extended where it was hidden in the back of my waistband.

"So, what happens now?" I asked, waiting on her move.

"Now?" she asked, tilting her head. "Now, you die, traitor."

The cocking of her shotgun while she sprang into motion over the counter was my final warning, and I dove left, thanking the spirits she tended to use one with a tight shot group. I pulled my own weapon as I rolled, ending up behind the couch when I finished, rifle at the ready.

Two more rounds of shot echoes around my head as she fired again, missing me by almost nothing. I risked a quick glance, letting my eyepiece do the work for me, finding her heat signature still behind the bar. Without hesitation, I reached up, firing blindly in her general direction. The cover fire kept her pinned long enough for me to dash behind the vid cabinet instead, a heavier wood that would be able to withstand more damage.

Quickly, I reloaded, on some level cursing the close quarters that made my sniper rifle impractical.

"Hey, Archangel? You still moving?" I heard her call, and while she was going for a flippant tone, I knew better. She didn't know where I'd moved to, and was trying to get me to slip. I waited, silent, until I heard soft footsteps across the room.

_When the hell did she ditch those boots? Damnit, I was counting on that advantage._

When I was sure she'd cleared the kitchen, I crouched down, firing at chest level.

She must have heard me, though, because she was already ducking behind the other side of the very couch I'd just been using for cover.

"I take that as a yes, turian," she called, a statement closely followed by the sound of her reloading.

 _2.5 seconds, that's how long it takes her to reload..._ I moved around again, firing in the vicinity of where I knew she'd be. I _had_ to have hit her, but coming around the corner of the couch only garnered me an empty space.

Immediately I ducked, only barely missing being butt-stroked in the carapace. Shepard laughed, on me all of a sudden, and I knocked her weapon away with my own. The force of the strike sent her back against the bar, but also was more than enough to make us both lose our grip on our weapons, sending them flying somewhere in the vicinity of the front door.

I watched the arc for a moment, gaze flicking back just in time to see her turn back from the bar, and the boots she had deposited on the top of it. In her hand was a wicked blade, causing me to smirk at her.

"What, exactly, do you think that is going to gain you?" I said, reaching down into my own boot to draw my mexta. The serration on the tip of the blade and the difference in size made her own dainty choice look like a child's toy.

"Size isn't everything, Archangel. Or did you forget my offer to show you my flexibility?"

She lunged forward, and I brought my own weapon up to meet hers, deflecting the blade expertly.

"Do they train humans to do this kind of thing, or is it just a talent you possess?" She flicked her blade back and forth, grinning as she tried to use the light to distract me. I ignored the tactic.

"Ever heard of N7 training? I have more skills at my disposal than even you know," she swiped again, and again I stepped back, easily outmaneuvering her.

"Hmm...maybe I _should_ have stuck around the night before the relay," I shot back.

She gave a guttural scream as something about that statement pissed her off, lunging again. The power behind the thrust made it much more difficult to avoid, and I spun to keep from garnering a nasty slice to my arm.

I'd barely faced her again when the flash of the knife caught my attention, and this time instead of deflecting, I grabbed her wrist and shoved it upward, stopping the attack cold. Pressure applied to her wrist was more than enough to make her drop the knife, and I kicked it away. I held my own blade to her throat, watching as she calmly awaited my next move. The only betrayal of her nerves was a slight swallowing, which was more than enough pressure to draw blood from the skin contact with the incredibly sharp blade.

 _Keep your weapons maintained at all times._ That was a mantra all turians lived by. But as I watched a small well of blood slowly work its way down her throat, I cursed that lesson and the marring it had given her.

Up until that point, neither of us had taken any damage. It had been a dance of skill, to see who could outlast the other before blood was spilt.

But staring at that red droplet, it suddenly occurred to me that if I followed this to its conclusion, I'd be seeing a lot more than marred skin and tiny cuts.

I wasn't sure I could do it. I wasn't adverse to teaching her a lesson, but outright killing her for what would seem self-defense?

That was how Saren worked, not me. I would never become that man. And no matter what Shepard currently believed, I wasn't a traitor either.

She was still staring at me, eyes piercing and brown hair in disarray, having escaped the bun she currently had it kept in in various places. She looked wild, but also dangerous, even in her current predicament.

"So what's it going to be, Vakarian?" She took a small step forward, gasping sharply as the blade cut in more, causing more blood to flow, but she didn't back away. "You going to kill me, right here? Then do it and get it over with."

I sighed, narrowing my eyes, "I don't _want_ to kill you, Shepard. But I'm not going to stand by while you deny me the same courtesy."

"Sucks to be you, then," she said, using her free hand to shove my own away, catching another slice from the blade as she did so, albeit shallow from the look of it.

As I stepped back, trying to anticipate her next move, she whirled, performing a roundhouse kick that sent my mexta flying to join her own weapon.

 _That's it. Time for plan B._ I went for my still concealed pistol, fumbling slightly in my hurry to remove it from its holster. I freed it just as I heard her own weapon pull free, and whirled just in time to level my pistol in her face, only to find her own inches from mine.

 _Carnifex hand-cannon, projectile speed..._ I ignored the scrolling information on my eyepiece, already knowing the specs on that gun in particular, having watched it rip apart more than one enemy in my time.

"What now, Archangel? My gun has a _much_ lighter trigger pull, you know?"

I snorted. I'll be _damned_ if she didn't seem to be having a good time, if the tone of her voice were any indication.

"And mine has a modified hair trigger, _and_ is a higher caliber…" I shot back, raising an eyebrow ridge.

We stared, eyes locked, and she quirked an eyebrow at me in turn. "Drop?"

I nodded. "Drop."

Without hesitation, we both threw our pistols to the side, crouching down to begin circling. Damn it, I had _no_ clue what her talents were in this area once the knives were removed. She knew mine, though. That gave her an advantage.

But I had the size and strength to counter her, so not much of one, and approached the challenge with more than a little relish.

I growled softly, a sound she returned, much to my surprise.

"You shouldn't have tried to play me for a fool, Garrus. Really, really, shouldn't have." She took one step, then another, making sure her feet never crossed as she did so. This indicated a certain level of training, since such a stance would allow her to keep her footing if I charged.

"Played _you_ for a fool? Hardly. I had a mission, and I fulfilled it. I kept _my_ loyalties where they should have been." We continued to match each other step for step, the words only serving to try and distract one or the other of us. It was a game, a deadly one, and I was determined to win it. "And I _never_ lied, not once. I might be a horrible turian, but I never crossed that line."

She scoffed, obviously seeing no difference between my word games and actual lies. I took another step, being careful not to lose my footing on the small staircase not far behind my feet, changing verbal tactics as I did so.

"And unlike you, I know who gives my orders."

She laughed, "A Council that will screw you over the minute they don't like your decisions? Believe me, you're not the only Spectre in this room, remember?" _Step. Step._

" _I_ don't spend every waking moment challenging their authority!" she backed up slowly, and almost lost her footing on that very set of steps so soon before. But she regained it almost instantly, and it only took me a second to realize it had been a feint. I couldn't help but grin.

"Sure you don't, you good little boy. Follow them _right_ into the fire, won't you? While the Reapers destroy everyone and everything either of us has ever cared about."

The grin fell from my face as I hesitated, somewhat swayed by the vehemence of her tone, and that mistake almost cost me everything.

She launched herself at me, tackling me with all of her considerable strength, hands on my shoulders as she tried to knee me in the groin. Thank the spirits, but plating comes in handy for more than you could ever guess. When that didn't work, she head-butted me instead, only to realize that I was plated there too as she rolled off, groaning at her own stupidity.

"Not used to sparring with a turian, huh? Well, you chose the arena, Spectre." I rolled, elbowing her in the gut, causing her to double over in pain. I stood, catching my breath as I watched her in hopes she would yield, looking for my dropped pistol all the while. As my eyes flicked among the debris, I heard her curse, closely followed by my world exploding in pain.

A knee had connected with my left spur with an unimaginable amount of force, and I fell unceremoniously. Stars still flashing in front of my eyes, I fell on something relatively soft, and failed any attempt I could muster to get up again for a few minutes.

"Didn't think that through..." I heard the lump groan under me after a moment, realizing I'd fallen on my adversary. Hell, long as I was here, might as well take advantage.

Rolling until I had her pinned, I asked the obvious question. "What in the _hell_ do you think all this is going to accomplish, Shepard?"

"I would think that would be obvious." I felt her legs bunch, but managed to maneuver to keep her from throwing me off, pressing her down more forcefully. Her cybernetics made her strong, but I hadn't been called one of the best hand-to-hand specialists of my time for no reason. She'd screwed up when she dropped her gun, since no amount of strength can save you against superior training. She struggled again, and I let her lift up slightly, then forced her down till her head hit the floor hard enough to daze her.

"You are _not_ going to be able to kill me, here, like this. If you wanted me dead, you should have been more underhanded about it."

She shook her head, eyes wide as she waited on her vision to clear. "I considered that, then dismissed the idea. Goddamn, Vakarian, you know me well enough by now to know that I don't brook with dishonor. There's battlefield diversion, and there's outright _wrong."_

She hooked a leg under mine somehow, trying to roll me, and I forced her down a third time.

"Did it _ever_ occur to you to talk to me?" I asked forcefully.

"Did it ever occur to _you_ to tell me?" She returned.

" _Yes_ , but I was trying to avoid _this_..."

She finally managed to roll me, distracted as I was as I tried to put my feelings into words, grabbing my dropped pistol at the same time. Without hesitation she shoved it between my mandibles, spitting out, "Is that why you left, the night before the relay? You were tired of sticking to your _cover_?"

"No, I left because you deserved better, Shepard."

With a scream, she stood, backing away with the pistol still aimed at me. " _Bullshit_ , Vakarian. Even now, you can't stop lying."

"Believe me or don't," I responded, still on my back. The pistol shook slightly in her hand, and I contemplated tackling her again as she debated. But no, I was done fighting, especially while she was holding _my_ pistol instead of hers.

"Fuck you, Vakarian. I can't let this go." She sounded anguished, but I had to be imagining it. "I can't give you the chance to betray me again. I couldn't stand it." She aimed at my chest, hesitated one more second, then fired.

The thud of the bullet hit me square between the bottom points of the sniper triangle, and hurt like _hell_ , but didn't do more than wind me.

Concussive rounds have a way of doing that.

I heard her throw the pistol away in disgust, and did my very best not to move, trying to enforce the idea that she'd accomplished exactly what she was after.

 _Fucking bitch shot me...oh, she's_ going _to pay for that._

I fully expected her to retrieve her own weapons, to leave, to go change. Anything that would parallel the thousands of kills I'd watched her take in our acquaintance. She wasn't one to belly-ache over what was necessary. Ever.

Which was why the sounds that began to pervade the room a moment later were so out of place.

"Goddamn it, Vakarian. Why didn't you just fucking _come_ to me at the beginning." Fuck all, it made no sense whatsoever, but she was crying. I slit one eye, seeing her perched on the edge of the lower couch with her knees drawn up under her, staring out into the sandstorm that had been the background noise for our 'discussion.' Bullet holes pitted the impenetrable glass, but she didn't seem to be actually looking at anything. She would glance away occasionally, but never at me, as if trying to fight against everything she had just done.

She had to have been doing that since pulling the trigger, come to think of it, or she'd have _known_ I was still alive. A lack of a hole in the chest is a pretty good indicator. As is a lack of blood.

"Fuck you, and your sense of honor, you stupid fucking turian. It wasn't your fault," her words faltered as she slashed at her face with her hand, presumably to wipe away her tears. "It was that damnable Council sticking their nose in again. Well, fuck them, too. I've got three bullets with their names on it after this."

_Oh, no you don't, Shepard._

Somehow, despite the debris and everything else, I managed to gain my feet without disturbing her, moving towards where she'd positioned herself.

_I may be finding it difficult to take the kill, but I won't listen to you threaten our employers. That crosses the line between professional and personal for me._

She continued to speak as I crept forward.

"Just should have fucking come to me. We could have figured it out, Garrus. Could have figured _us_ out."

I stopped, trying to decipher what I was hearing.

 _That is not possible... she can't mean what I think she does._ The implications were...too hard to think about, in this context. The idea that I had gone about this all wrong, that she...

_Doesn't matter, Vakarian. She's set it in her mind to assassinate the Council. You do your duty._

But it _did_ matter, on some level, didn't it?

Still bickering internally with myself, I continued to move forward, unsure of my thoughts. No matter what else was going through my head, however, there was one thing I was _absolutely_ sure of:

I couldn't let her walk out of this room until she'd changed her mind, or I'd have no qualms putting a bullet in her brain, Hero of the Citadel or not.

That was what the Spectres were there for.


	4. Redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, usually really big on author's notes, but I'll spare you the diatribe. Only warnings are as follows: quite explicit and possible *trigger* content ahead. You have been warned. 
> 
> And as I said from the beginning, I have no valid excuse for this. None at all.

" _Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run free 'til they find someone just as wild to run with them." -_ Sex and the City

**Chapter 4 - Redemption**

I stared out into the wind-swept vastness of that god-forsaken planet, watching the red whorls of wind swirl to and fro. It was easier that way; easier not to have to think about the decision I'd just made.

In life, you don't get second chances. Once the card is played, the words are said, the...shot has been taken, you can't undo it. Never before had I allowed myself to regret.

But when faced with the loss of Garrus Vakarian, I would have given anything to take it back.

I wish I could have said it was justice, but in truth taking that shot had been nothing but pure _fear._ I had almost decided to come clean with him, almost decided that maybe I had it all wrong, in the weeks leading up to our assault on the Collector base. Then, the night before the relay, after all of his bumbling insecurity and uninformed attempts at seduction, I'd accepted him anyway. Been determined that we could admit everything we both had been hiding, work everything out somehow.

He'd won me over, simply put, by his damn near impossible to defeat battlefield presence. First he'd earned my respect all over again when he faced down the Council in spite of his connection to them, then my admiration when he'd taken the shot to kill Sidonis in spite of my interference, and finally he'd taken the rest as we rushed through the derelict Reaper, which I now knew to be the moment he'd discovered my act. It just seemed like that when we were together, just like always, all oppositions fell before us as if they were nothing. I was good, so was he, and together, we were an unstoppable force of nature. That could only hold true to everything else, right? Of life, of happiness, of...love.

That sounded so melodramatic, didn't it? More like something out of some over-romanticized vid than my own somewhat callous thought processes. Still, that didn't change the fact that watching him balance the two halves of his life, while still maintaining his sense of humor and love of the fight, had forced me to see things I would rather not have in a 'traitor.'

None of it mattered, though, because he'd fucking left me alone that night, walked away in spite of it all. That rejection was unforgivable.

It had also cemented the entire situation, hadn't it? Made quite clear that there were certain things he just wasn't willing to do for his 'cover.' If he couldn't cross that line in the sand, couldn't see past my humanity long enough to see the warrior, then he wasn't worthy of my emotions. Not at all.

And now it was over. I'd shot him, assuaged my hurt feelings, brought a liar to justice...

So why was my chest filled with an almost painful longing for what could never have happened? It should not _fucking_ hurt, the death of a betrayer. It made the tears on my face more traitorous to me than _he_ had ever been.

Even when we were shooting it out, I had _felt_ that connection all over again. It had almost gotten to the point that the competition had seemed a game, a challenge of skill against the one opponent a commander should never have to face: her second in command. My throbbing arm and still sore head tried to negate that thought, but it's not as if I were unused to pain.

And then, I'd let fear of being hurt a second time rule my hand.

_What would you do, if someone betrayed you?_

_I don't know, but I wouldn't let it change me._

"I'm so sorry, Garrus. Sorry for everything. I won't let them get away with what they forced me to do. I'll honor your memory." The phrase came out as barely a whisper, and I shook my head, trying to clear away the muddled thoughts, to summon the willpower to get up. To clean up the shattered glass, the broken wood, all the blood...

Memory of the destroyed room flashed in front of me in response to that thought, bringing to the forefront a small detail that up until now I'd been too aggrieved to consider too closely. That spots of my own red were the only blood in the room.

"Just a mom-" That sentence was cut off an instant later by a taloned hand over my mouth, grip strong, and another around my waist as I was yanked upward. My body came back flush against a much more unforgiving surface as my former adversary pulled me against him with all of his considerable strength, and in spite of the millions of instinctive battle tactics I knew to break free of such a hold before he gained a better grip, I was immobilized by one, single thought.

 _He's_ _**alive** _ _. Thank_ _**god** _ _he's alive._

"Shepard, you shot me," he whispered across my ear, grip never loosening, "You realize things like that tend to put a damper on _any_ partnership, even one like ours."

_Shit… I suppose he might feel a differently about not wanting to kill me now..._

Finally, my body snapped into action as my mind realized my danger, feet jumping up to kick off the couch, only to find myself yanked backwards a little further.

"Oh, I don't _think_ so, girl. I'm going to move my hand, and we're going to have a nice little talk about your plans for the Council. I'll kill you myself before I'll let you harm them. I've worked too damn hard at this job to let you screw it up now."

I shook my head at the vehemence in his voice, freeing myself enough to bite down. _Hard._ I tasted cordite, and would have done serious damage to a human attacker, but only managed to draw a laugh out of my captor.

"Nice try, but if I were you I wouldn't start things you probably have no intention of finishing." In spite of the craziness of the situation, there was a teasing lilt to his tone, one that caused me to freeze in confusion.

Images, completely unbidden, assaulted me at those words: all of the dreams I'd had leading up to the relay, all of the ideas that went through my head every time the pair of us tagged another kill. Even during our little mock battle earlier, I hadn't been able to escape a moment of longing as I watched him move through our arena like a precision machine. His keen eye for details, his passion for everything he undertook...

_It's sarcasm, Shepard, and he's intent on killing you. Get your head where it needs to be._

Still, my body tensed involuntarily at the memories, heat spreading throughout me at his close proximity, and also at his dangerous intent. I always _had_ found dangerous men appealing, after all; even ones contemplating my demise. It wasn't as if he would _know_ what was going through my head, regardless. His somewhat endearing attempts at romance had proven that he had no clue about human physiology.

 _Unless that had been a cover, too..._ A thought that was proven when he next moved.

His grip on my waist had continued to keep me above the ground with almost no effort on his part, cutting into my hips as he had started to move his hand before my little rebellion. At that action, though, and the bodily reactions that followed my remembrances, something in the man behind me changed. He set me down, taloned hand still in laid across my waist, the other moving to trail down the side of my throat as he said, "Then again, maybe we could go about this the way we should have from the beginning."

His hand continued to trace lines of delicious fire down my bare shoulder, gliding lightly down my arm as it generated goosebumps wherever he touched.

"Somehow, I think I can convince you to change your plans. Call it a guess."

"You presume too much, turian." Even to my own ears, that statement sounded false, holding a lack of conviction that was glaringly obvious to both people in the room, no doubt.

"You didn't seem so reluctant last time…" he purred, stroking up and down both arms now as he spoke, "I find it hard to believe that you've changed your mind so quickly."

"You walked away. I got over it." I crossed my arms, ignoring his touch, focusing on the window in front of me so that it was easier not to respond to him. So intent was my attention that I didn't realize he had been forced to release his hold continue his seduction, and I started to move away, only to have an arm encircle my waist almost painfully once more.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I pushed against his arms with my own, to no avail, before gracing him with an answer.

"Back to the _Normandy_. I can't do this, Vakarian."

His grip loosened slightly, but not enough to break free, as he asked, "So you were only trying to keep your little secret, before the relay?" He seemed somewhat hurt, but there was still that dangerous note there as well. It left me wondering, if only for a minute, if forcing himself on me in spite of my denial was crossing his mind. Then I came to my senses, remembering that while Vakarian might be many things, a rapist he was not. Him leaving the night before the relay was proof of that.

"NO," I turned in his hold, placing my hands on his chest for leverage as I glared at him, answering his question, "I mean that I can't fight you again, Garrus. I couldn't take the shot twice."

He seemed genuinely perturbed by my resistance, and my answers, as he responded, "Why would you have to do so?"

"Because this will all come up again, even with everything out in the open. Especially since you now seem much more open to the idea of killing me."

He tilted his head, considering, "All you have to say is one little phrase, Shepard: 'I'm not going to assassinate the Council.' Then, all your problems go away."

"The Council are a bunch of idiots, but not worth wasting the bullets on if you're alive," I stared at him in exasperation, continuing with a sigh, "There's no revenge to _exact_ , Vakarian. Give me a little credit, please. If I'd wanted them dead on principal I'd have done it when Saren attacked the Citadel."

He stared at me, as if trying to gauge the honesty of my words, before stating with a wicked smile, "Well, _I_ still think you need convincing, Shepard."

He pulled me towards him, gripping my shoulders forcefully, bringing me flush with the soft material of his tunic. He leaned forward, and I stood frozen, trapped by the combination of violence and lust his face held, so close and yet so far. Slowly, he moved down, nipping at my shoulder and working his way upwards, teeth applying just enough pressure to set my body on fire. I sucked in a breath, trying to summon the willpower to be mad, to pull away, to say no.

But I didn't want to say no. I wanted to show him what he'd thrown away by betraying me. What he'd given up a lifetime of experiencing for the Council he thought so much of.

My body finally responded to my wishes, and I brought my hands up to his shoulders, shoving him back and down at the same time. He dragged me with him, the two of us landing on the glass and wood-chip covered floor without a care for the damage the debris caused us. Turians were physically incapable of kissing, and that sort of sensuality wasn't what I wanted anyway. I abandoned all romance I usually associated with sex, in favor of allowing my hands to roughly explore fringe and plates, finding pleasure in my partner's roughness as he did the same. Almost frantically, I worked my hands into his waistband, pulling his shirt away with unforgiving motions as he forced his own to bring my skirt up, sharp talons applying light pressure along my spine as he did so. I struggled with the back of his tunic where it was pinned to the floor, and he rolled, trapping me underneath him again as I pulled upward, the two of us managing to get it over his head. He barely interrupted his light nips and licks to do so, resuming his ministrations as soon as that barrier was removed, as if he were determined not to interrupt our activities for even the short time needed to remove the obvious obstacles.

For my part, I was filled with a need to touch him, to feel the roughness of his body that matched his spirit. It seemed he felt the same way, talons once again forcing my dress upwards as he felt his way up my sides, nose still buried in the crook of my neck; it seemed he was determined to drown I my scent, or perhaps he could smell the changes in my body as he continued to roam in search of what would draw reactions from me. The problem was, the very _feel_ of him over me induced shudders everywhere, his hands impossibly warm against the sweat-cool skin he was grazing with every small move. I felt heat spread down low, and I moaned, a sound which caused him to harden above me, something easily felt even through clothes he still wore.

When his attempts to remove my dress more fully failed, I could see his intent in his eyes, and cut that train of thought off before he could fulfill it.

"Rip this dress, and I'll kill you, Vakarian."

He stopped, smiling slightly before answering, "You already tried that, Shepard. Let's go for a threat you'll actually back up."

"You son of a—" I drew back, intent on hitting him for his insolence, only to have my hand pinned as he laughed at my attempts. He lifted me, finally working the dress over my shoulders, releasing my right arm long enough to throw the grey material to the floor. Leaning down, he grabbed the other hand, tracing a tongue along one nipple before pulling back at my gasp.

"Let me go, you fucking…" I tried to pretend my squirming was anger, and not a result of the immediate undeniable _desire_ that flared at the feel of his naked chest against my own, and the roughness of his tongue against my breasts.

"Do you _really_ want me to?" He moved to the other nipple, eyes watching me as he grazed me with teeth, lightly dragging talons down my forearms. My back arched against the dual sensations, causing me to wonder where in the _hell_ he'd found the time to learn so much about the human body. It was both erotic and irritating, finding myself so easily responding to his movements; knowing that he had the tools to completely disarm me.

Well fuck that, two could play at that game.

"Let go of my arms, and I'll show you, asshole."

He quirked a brow in response to my challenge, and I reached up, snagging the weapon he would probably never have known to look for: my hair sticks, a specialty item commissioned for tonight, with sharpened ends. My strands fell away as I sat up, putting the stilettos to his throat with precise movements, eyes never leaving his. I glared at him, waiting for some reaction: fear, anger, hatred, betrayal. Instead, what met my vision was that unperturbable smirk, an unwavering gaze that showed no emotion at all except amusement.

_Goddamn it._

I put more pressure on, drawing just enough blood to return his injury to my own body earlier. His face remained impassive, unaffected, until finally I dropped the weapons in exasperation, only to have him reach over and push them further away.

"You really weren't scared, were you?" I said finally, narrowing my eyes in confusion at the figure still poised patiently over me. I felt his body respond insistently above me once again, and it was only then that it occurred to me that his reactions had never changed throughout my attempts to cow him, like the fucking bastard was turned on by the idea of me killing him. For all I knew, maybe he was.

"Scared of you? Not in the slightest, I'm afraid. Your scent betrays where your thoughts really are. However…" he reached up suddenly, gripping my hair harshly where it now lay unbound, "I appreciate you making this easier." The pressure was just enough to cause me to comply, a whimper escaping me as he ran his cat-like tongue delicately along the wound he'd given me, already on the way to healing.

"You wanna die twice in one night, turian? Anaphylaxis tends to be a mood killer." The words were breathy, almost indecipherable, and I couldn't find the presence of mind to care about my quickly dwindling willpower.

"Even death is scared of the two of us. Haven't you figured that out yet?" Soon, teeth replaced tongue, slight pressure on the side of my throat as he explored those sensitive areas. Rough cheeks, the light twitching of mandibles against my skin, and harsh breath assaulted me; even if I had wanted to move at that moment, I couldn't have removed myself from his touch. His free hand continued to wander my body tentatively as he pinned me, a delicious combination of soft palms and warm plates and sharp talons.

There was something, some aspect, of the whole thing; his animal need, his rough treatment that just bordered on destructive, the way he seemed to be holding nothing back, that finally caused me to reconsider my motives. There would be plenty of time for regrets in the morning. Tonight was for us, as we should have been the whole time. That was what I now wanted.

I fought against him, watching him pull away as I did so, looking at me hard. Again, there was a possessive note when he spoke, "Do you truly want me to stop, Shepard?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head vehemently, "But, I don't want to do this _here_ , either. The chafing is going to be bad enough as it is, without adding glass cuts all over my back to explain. Of course, I could always just tell Chakwas I like it a little rough…"

He was in the process of standing as I spoke, and at that last statement his face lit slightly, hand reaching down to take my own. He pulled me up into him sharply, commenting, "Somehow, I don't think that would be a lie, would it, girl?"

I chuckled lightly, reaching up to yank his fringe hard as I did so.

"Not in the least."

Somehow, around all the heat and stumbling and frantic need to touch one another, we found our way to the bedroom without falling down, or damaging any more of my already ruined apartment. The extravagant four-poster, the one that I'd never actually slept in, still lay there, covers untouched by any since its purchase. As we came across the threshold, he picked me up, strong arms lifting me easily without even releasing his now renewed hold on my hair. He tossed me onto the bed lightly, hungry gaze never leaving my own as he joined me, crawling above me with a wolfish air as his talons found their way to the only clothing that I had managed to maintain. These he ripped quickly, not giving me a chance to threaten him again. I narrowed my eyes at him

"Should've spoken faster, Shepard. Call it the price of bedding a predator."

I tilted my head at the word. "Is that so? Exactly how long have you been hunting this particular prey?" I reached down, working at his belt as I spoke, the lust in his piercing blue eyes never even wavering.

"Too long for my almost limitless patience, I'm afraid," his face was inches from mine, breath hot but sweet to my senses, "Some quarry is harder to tame than others." He leaned forward, nipping at my earlobe lightly, but I refused to be distracted from my work.

My hands succeeded at their task, and I reached past his waistband, grasping him firmly as I did so. It was his turn to arch into my touch while I marveled at the feel of him, alien but familiar in the same breath, hard and responsive to my own hands. I found no small amount of glee in returning his easy manipulation of my own arousal before.

"Then what are you waiting for?" I asked quietly, hands still moving, "Claim your spoils, hunter."

I felt the remainder of his clothing come away an instant later, as if spurred into movement of their own accord by my teasing. Seconds later, hands roughly grabbed me, causing me to lose my grip as my world spun. I found myself on my knees facing the dresser across from the foot of the bed, his rough chest coming flush with my back. I looked up as I felt him start to enter, ever so slowly, then pull back. Eyes locked on the reflective surface in front of me, on his face consumed with desire and longing, I couldn't help but writhe against him, trying to bring us together. There was a low snarl from behind me as I watched him close his eyes, feeling teeth lightly graze my shoulder in a more silent warning not to move again.

I stopped my squirming, almost panting in anticipation as he entered me for the second time, pushing a little farther than before. He entered me again, twice, three times, each time moving a little closer, filling me a little more as he grunted harshly into my hair. My eyes snapped up to my own face, watching as he entered me for the last time, bringing his hips against me with a final groan as he bit down on the back of my neck with abandon.

It was good that my body was wet, and more than ready for him, because he was almost _too_ large for me to accommodate. His slow entrance had given me a chance to adjust somewhat; though that turian hadn't been too proud to use it to his advantage, had he? I found it hard to voice my complaint around own series of overwhelming sensations: my own face taking on a pornographic expression, mouth contorted into an 'O' without any accompanying sound as my body, mind, and nerves all fought for control of my senses. He pulled away, teeth leaving me, then pushed forward again with a fluttering of mandibles against my shoulder blades, his own lewd exhalation feeding my own craving for him. His knees were fixed against the outside of my own, holding me in place as my body clenched involuntarily around him. His chest rumbled against me as he felt it, talons gripped over my hands as we stayed that way, giving my body a little more time to adjust to the size of him.

Time he refused to waste, his right hand moving up to grip my trailing brown hair once again, grip unyielding as he turned my head to face him.

"Will you fight me, or beg for mercy?" the teasing lilt was gone, causing my breath to catch as I considered his ultimatum. He pulled back slightly, causing my body to rebel, and my mind to be made for me. His greedy gaze met my own in the reflection in front of us, small movement from within me causing my eyes to roll back slightly as I answered without any more hesitation.

"No more fighting," I said, almost begging in my desperations, " _Please_ …" it was little more than a harsh whisper, every nerve in my body poised for his next move. He pulled away little farther, hair still in his grip, then brought us together once again. I bucked against him without meaning to, overwhelmed by the explosions in my body as every nerve protested against the over-stimulation our joining created. I ignored that, focusing instead of the humming of my body as endorphins rushed through me, reaching back to claw harshly at the back of his neck as I fought against the urge to scream in ecstasy. He took that as permission to continue, the easy motions becoming more rhythmic, each time we united drawing another cry from my throat.

It wasn't long before the expanse of my back began to feel like it had been set aflame, as my skin responded to the friction of plates on much softer hide. I didn't care, though, my pain and pleasure centers becoming mixed as I became absorbed more and more in the smell and feel and sound of our exertions, my voice soon as raw as my exterior from the variety of sounds it was producing.

As suddenly as it had begun, he stopped moving, my partner pulling away from me without preamble. I sent a small whine of frustration over my shoulder, only to find myself being rolled over once again, cushioning my back against the softness of the comforter.

"Can't do _too_ much damage, can we?" Garrus said with a chuckle, eyes once again meeting mine without the aid of the mirror, his expression somewhat softer as he watched me.

"I would have been fine for a few more minutes," I said in return, the slight cracking of my words causing me no small amount of wonder at the man who had caused it.

"Who says that would have been long enough?" He didn't give me a chance to answer, bringing my legs up to his shoulders, forcing himself in all over again from this new, and tighter, position. Back arching anew, I reached up to fumble at the headboard futilely for a moment before finding purchase, no longer able to keep from screaming his name as my world melted into nothing but our motions. Coherent thought was lost, as my body and mind became focused on nothing more than the feel of him against me, within me, and the sound of him calling my own name in turn. His passion brought us closer and closer to rapture with each thrust, as he satisfied every desire we'd been holding back.

We would never be able to withhold ourselves again after this night; of that, I was sure.

What seemed like days later, but was probably only hours, I lay cradled against his chest on the bed, the sheets and blankets in disarray and somewhat worse for the wear; not much different than their owner, if I were completely honest with myself. Gone were the contemplations of revenge and punishment, my sated and exhausted body and mind unable to entertain such thoughts any longer.

His arm was wrapped underneath me, hand lightly tracing his way up my back. Without warning, he found a particularly tender abrasion, and I couldn't help but exhale sharply in pain as a result. I tried to stem the response, but he must have heard it, because his hand quickly fell away. My eyes were still closed, but I didn't resist his movement as he rolled me off to face away from him, only asking, "What are you..."

My question was interrupted by the return of his hands, as gentle now as they had been rough so soon before. The medigel on them acted as a cool salve on the multiple cuts and raw skin as he applied it to each of my injuries. He used just as much care as he had to more serious wounds after multiple missions, much as I had tended to his own lacerations and bullet holes, and the familiarity was a combination of comforting and appealing.

"You know, I _do_ have some rather advanced healing," I said, but there was no condemnation to the statement, only an easy sigh as relief replaced the pain, "I'd have been fine after a while."

"Hmm…no, I don't think so," he responded, "I don't believe I'd have been willing to wait and see." His hands continued their movements, this time probing a slightly deeper wound in my side where he had gripped me as he climaxed, a slash I hadn't even felt at the time, "The council wouldn't look kindly on me damaging their prodigal."

I closed my eyes farther against the new warmth his hands were bringing, in spite of the coolness of the medication, commenting, "Somehow, I find it hard to believe they'd be willing to condemn another Spectre for the work. You wouldn't be the first to have harmed me. In fact, I think you would be number three, if my math skills are still functioning…"

"Yes, but since I don't think I'm done damaging you for the evening…" My eyes flew open in time to catch the mischievous glint to his eyes as he moved over me, one that was quite familiar, and usually only displayed when an adversary made a quite fatal move. It was a preamble to the kill shot. He went on, "after all, some hunts take several days, and some prey refuses to be tamed…"

I grinned, sitting up as I did so, my adversary leaning back to kneel as I moved. I mirrored him, the bed bouncing slightly at the pressure of my knees as I came in front of him. "Then consider this your first lesson in role reversal, my fellow Spectre. This time, _you_ shall be the prey."

The amused flare of his mandibles as I pounced with a growl, causing him to fall onto his back with a startled laugh, was the last thing I heard before our games began anew. Hopefully, with any luck, they would last the rest of our days, however long those may be.

*/*/*

_Two Spectres, two lives,_

_One hunter and one prey_

_Wage battles of fire, and wind, and ice_

_Yet hold their hopes along their way_

_Such is the power of devotion and love_

_No matter what the guise..._


End file.
